


The Lusty Month of May

by Missy



Category: Evil Dead Series (1981 1987 1993)
Genre: F/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-30
Updated: 2010-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-09 19:25:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ash and Sheila celebrate the first of May - all without leaving their bedroom...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lusty Month of May

She waits for him in the bedroom, carefully combing her hair and nibbling the box of chocolates he bought her for her birthday.

Sheila smiles, finding the gift typical of Ash – delicious, but poorly thought out. She would eat all of the creams and leave none for him if he didn't come home soon. When her wish is granted, it's with a clatter of fallen objects and a scattering of cursewords.

He staggers into the bedroom, dropping his holster, losing the gun and the saw and his socks on the floor. "Cannibal oranges in the produce section…got a couple of stockboys…killed 'em all…" he gives her a hard kiss, quick and to her right cheek. "D'ya leave me some hot water?"

"Aye." They are tantalizingly close - she smells sweat on him, orange and blood hastily washed away with restroom handsoap.

"I'll shower." He sheds his shirt, belt, and pants on the way to the bathroom. "Just 'cause you look so nice."

Sheila lets out a sigh of irritation as he enters the bathroom. Busying herself, she picks up his discarded clothing and tosses it into the laundry hamper. Tenderness washed over her as she placed his boots next to her slippers; the rightness of it pleasing her, the masculine beside feminine, intertwined.

She's back on the bed, sitting with her hands folded in her lap, when he returns. His hair's wet, an old blue robe replacing his boxer shorts. He leans in the doorjam and watches her.

Sheila holds out her arms and he limps to her. She touches his knee with gentle concern before he sits down beside her on the bed and they kiss, slowly, he savoring her mouth; in his she tastes toothpaste and spearmint gum.

When they break apart, she tilts her head and stares up. "What?" he asks.

She runs a hand across his cheek. "Ye're wearing aftershave." He never shaves on a Saturday if he can help it.

"It's an important night," he reminds her. "You didn't take any…"

"No. It hath been a week – tis the first of May." A sense of purpose and awareness grew between them; she sees it in the way he stares at her. "Then ye're willing?" she drapes her arms around his neck.

"It's a hell of a risk." He doesn't call himself unwilling. "You're sure you wanna do this?"

She nodded. "If ye're able."

"Yeah. Wanna feel how able?"

"Ashley!" Sheila smiles, running her fingers down his chest. The resulting kiss turned slowly from tender to ravenous, her hand sliding up his flank and against the back of his head, fingers tucking into his cowlick, his running slowly through her hair, then clutching at her waist.

He pulls her onto his lap, and she can feel the heat of his flesh through her thin nightgown. She shivers in spite of his heat, breaking the kiss and rubbing her cheek against his. Her hands slide back down his chest and go to work on the loose knot holding his robe together.

Ash is a step ahead of her and skims the right strap of her nightgown down her shoulder, brushing her skin with his lips, a bare hint of a butterfly kiss.

"Aah," she remarks, the early tendrils of pleasure wrapping themselves around her soul. Her hands grow useless upon the sash, giving it a hard, rending tug as he uses the material of her gown to stroke her nipples and stomach.

He smirks up at her, lowering himself to the bed, taking her with him. He manages to squirm out of the robe while she kicks off the gown.

She sighs at the feeling of his bare flesh against hers. He grumbles something against her temple, leaving several hot kisses across her brow and dropping another on the tip of her nose. Sheila laughs, and he takes advantage by kissing her parted lips.

Somehow, Ash manages to roll her over, his weight upon her breast and belly, his mouth devouring her tongue. When the kiss breaks, his lips descend her neck and throat, caressing her collarbone and then each breast in turn.

Sheila's nipples stand firm, the color of rich milk chocolate against her pale breast. Ash licks them in turn before drawing the right nipple into his mouth and sucking, cupping the other with his left hand, massaging it firmly.

Her groans spur him to suckle harder, switching breasts and applying his teeth very carefully. He holds her still with his right hand, the left squeezing at the opposite breast. Sheila warms slowly to the stimulation, encouraging him with her voice and her eager fingers.

She can't reach anything from this angle, with his weight atop her and his mouth filled with her breast; her fingers comb through his hair and rub the back of his neck, tracing his spine as far as she can reach. Ash lifts his weight from her body as he nuzzles the small rise of her nipple before kissing each rib, her sides, and her hip-bones.

His shockingly-tender thoroughness makes her feel swoony. Ash, of course, knows exactly what he's doing to her and grins against her stomach.

"So," he kisses her navel, flicks his tongue into the indentation and then kissing just below it, "You like it slow."

Sheila trembles against the sheets. "We hath been wed for four years Ashley…if ye did not know this?"

"Baby, we've never gone this slow." Time tends to melt away when they're in bed together; she can't judge his accuracy. The tips of his finger run down her right thigh, up, and across her stomach to the left. Teasing so lightly that she groans.

His voice comes from beside her ear. "Do you like that? Huh?"

Sheila opens her eyes and looks into his and sees the amusement in his eyes. Ash can detach himself from the pain of others easily; it's what makes him an effective leader. She wonders how he'll be when she's in labor; will he turn away from her pain? Will he call her a coward?

"Hey," he kisses her between the eyes. "This's the one thing I can't do alone."

She shakes her head at his arrogance. "Aye," she rests her hand on his shoulder. His fingers return to their gentle teasing, making Sheila moan.

"Do you like it?" he repeats himself. "Do you want more?"

She nods, her chin lifting, proud to be his woman. The pressure of his touch increases slightly, testing the resiliency of her inner thigh, the springy-softness of the muscles there.

"Like this?" His clever fingers trace odd curlicue patterns upon her flesh. His left hand shifts back to her breast, and from his slightly-less-clever mouth comes, "lips or fingertips, baby?"

It's really not much of a question. "Thy hand." She sits up, her hand slowly descending down the front of his body. "If I might…polish Excalibur?" she teases, running her fingers through his chest hair, ghosting across his nipples.

"Jesus," Ash mumbles into her neck, kissing the chords there and abandoning her breasts to massage her stomach lightly. He smiles – a faint smile, but one nonetheless. He does love that nickname she's given his most private possession. "Whatever you want," he says, and that's such a rare occasion that she looks up and tilts her head at him.

"Sweet man." She so rarely calls him that that he tilts his head and stares at her. She pecks his cheek and leans into the strength of his chest, rubbing the rise of muscle. Ash is angular and flat, with the exception of his slightly-curved hips; he's broad and thickly built in the chest, his visible ribs making him seem somehow vulnerable, with long flanks and solid, well-build legs. His body hair tickles her palms as her fingers stroke his slightly-rough skin, his stomach, down to his cock.

He bucks involuntarily when she takes him in her grip, her touch familiar but beyond his control. She smirks into his neck, touching him with the same sort of deliberately feathery gentleness.

"Wench," he grumbles, and deliberately slips his hand up her thigh, cupping her soft pussy. His fingers slip across the exterior of her lips to slick them before pressing two inside with aching slowness.

Sheila groans and squeezes him – Ash nearly bucks her off of his lap. "Damn – lemme get my leg over…" They re-arrange their positions – she sits between his legs with her weight balanced upon his right knee, her calf hooked around his back and spreading herself open; She with her right hand holding him; he with his left free to tease her. It's slightly odd but better than rolling off the bed.

They can kiss, and kiss they do, tongues circling, inviting before retreating – long, sucking kisses that mimic the rhythm that would bring the night to a close. His fingers rock firmly into and out of her sex before circling upward to tease; she rubs him firmly, circling her thumb around the head, paying special attention to the sensitive spot just under the ridge.

"Better?" she asks.

"Mph," he responds.

If Sheila's hidden places are a rich red-browns on a field of cream and a sex made of pure candy-pink, Ash is thick and hearty, pale and pink and lined over with veins. It's thick and insistent, a brutal-looking instrument in a field of dark, wiry hair; she had jerked her thighs together in alarm the first time he had unveiled it for her eyes. That feels like another life as she eagerly strokes him, kissing his neck, rubbing her breasts against his chest. He looks down at her with half-shuttered eyes and an expression of pure delight on his features as her mouth gapes in response to the pleasure his stroking, probing fingers give her, which begins to build violently as he starts brushing his fingers very carefully across her engorged clit. His rhythm is more abrupt than hers, a little less gentle than she'd like but still arousing enough to build a pulse within her bloodstream.

She predicts his next action when he grows dangerously thick and hard; cool metal fingers clasping her wrist. "Now."

Sheila's brain, once fuzzy from arousal, snaps back to attention. She's nothing if not ready; his fingers drip a spot of lubrication upon her thigh as he pulls his fingers free and reaches up to fondle her breast.

"Oh yes," she murmurs, using the modern vernacular, wanting him.

"Get on your hands and knees," he says.

Sheila frowns thoughtfully at the suggestion but does as he commands, staring out the window as she kneels before him, her weight upon her elbows.

She feels Ash's warmth behind her. "Take a pillow, put it here…" He propped her up, a pillow beneath her belly and reaches down to join them.

He lets out a soft, deep 'nuh' as he slides fully home; she automatically bucks upward to take every inch she can. The angle's very right.

"So deep," she breathes. She feels FULL, remarkably so, and a pressure that could be uncomfortable if he pushes for more.

"Too much?" he wonders against her shoulder blade.

She shakes her head. "Just right. Carefully."

"Tell me if I hurt you," he orders, but she can't do much more than squeak as he withdraws and thrusts in slow, even rocking motions.

Ash grunts on every stroke inward, his sweat drips down to run down Sheila's spine. He's not going to last long; they haven't made love for two weeks. Sheila crams a hand between herself and the pillow, stroking her clit in a matching rhythm, her mouth parting at the dueling sensations.

Ash doubles his speed, clutching the sheets on either side of her head, groaning low, responding to her every buck backward with a thrust of his own. Soon she's rocking in rhythm to his motion, giving back just as good as he's giving to her. It's good, but not what she needs, and her orgasm remains tauntingly out of reach.

He slows his pace gradually, pulling out and tugging on her hips. "Roll over. I know what you need."

She frowns, discarding the pillow. "Do ye now?" she sprawls her thighs apart, giving him full view of her candy-heart colored center.

Ash groans, reaching to press his hard-on within her. "Oh yeah." He enters her with a slow, even thrust that makes her breath catch and Ash simply grin. "Nice and slow…" he circles his hips and gives her more of his weight, resting his chest on hers and bringing his mouth to her ear. "You want me to keep taking to you," he whispers. "You want me to pull out so slow that you can feel every inch of my cock rubbing that hot cunt," he did so and the walls of her sheathe drag against the sides of his cock. His breath hitches and Sheila's eyes flutter, her hands clutching his shoulders. When she tries to circle her hips in return he grasps her with the metal hand. "You want me to push back in a little faster, to make your hips jerk…" when he thrusts hers automatically buck, just as he describes. "And then I'll do this…" he rocks back and forth, his right arm protectively around her and his left hand holding her still. She stares up at him boldly, demanding no quarter. "You want it, baby?"

"Please," she murmurs, her fingers combing through her pubic hair, rubbing knowingly at her own clit, the lonely hours she had spent in futile but private ecstasy in her chamber, uncaring if it was a sin, all benefiting her now in the marriage bed.

"You've gotta say it," he says, withdrawing and thrusting in an easy pattern.

Sheila's head falls back, her fingers petting in rhythm to his hips. "Faster," she moans.

"Faster?" he rises up on his haunches, balancing on his left hand. But he refuses to go more quickly, drawing out the titillation, making her feel every inch of him.

"Oh, harder," she pants, her fingers pressing firmly against her clit. The friction is driving her mad.

"D'you mean like this?" He speeds up, increasing his force. Harder and harder now, and with an uncountable number of withdrawals and entries. It's far too much for Sheila's oversensitive cunny to take; the last thing she sees before she's bulldozed by her orgasm is the gleam in Ash's eyes. The bastard! He knows exactly what he's doing to her.

He probably doesn't expect her to bite down on his shoulder when she comes, but she considers it perfect payback for all of his teasing. It's not a hard one, and doesn't break the skin but stirs up a caveman-like impulse within his brain; suddenly he has no mercy for her and starts thrusting into her body with as much power as he can marshal.

She throws her arms around his neck as he thrusts in rhythm to another, smaller series of pulsations in her. She drags him down closer to her body, pasting their lips together, trying to get her legs up over his hips.

"Oh love, please," she whispers.

"Baby, yes," he groans. "Uh, yes!"

The bed squeaks violently as his pulsations begin, and everything within Sheila stills to appreciate Ash's orgasm.

It's quite an entertaining show; she's sure he has no idea about the comical faces he makes when he's turned on, that he knows even less about the ones he makes when he comes. His eyes widen, roll, his mouth hangs open and he shudders, calling her baby, saying 'yeah', and then the pulsing battery of his come flowing into her body, soothing her.

He falls into her embrace and she cradles him there, against her heart. It's quite awhile before either of them moves.

After a few moments, Ash shifts against her shoulder, cupping her jaw and holding her gently, then kissing her lips, tiny pecks that turn into a slow, lazy kiss. He pulls out gingerly and lies upon her, his weight still for a few heartbeats longer before shifting over and pulling up the sheets.

She laughs and he cracks open one eye. "We did not even need the out-of-doors." He gives her a frown. "Have ye not heard the rhyme? Ye would know it." He watches her expectantly and she sighs, embarrassed to recite it. "'Hooray, hooray, the first day of May, out-of-door-fucking starts today'."

He smirks at her cursing, smugly saying nothing as he wraps an arm around her. Projecting love without words. "I'd rather have a handful of Sheila than an assfull of pine needles."

Sheila curls up into his embrace, enjoying the steamy feeling of his chest against her back as they spoon together. They should enjoy the luxury of sleeping skin-to-skin while they still can.

Ash's voice beside her ear lulls Sheila to sleep. "Who says being married's boring?"

 

THE END


End file.
